Trying it on for size

I was in the garage working on Katie’s bedroom door, cutting a new one to size. She was down there with me, sweeping up the sawdust as fast as I could create it, serving as an outfeed table for the table saw, holding the door steady for marking/cutting/sanding, etc. In short, providing a much appreciated second set of hands.

I don’t remember precisely what I said but I was  looking at the hinge edge of the door and said something along the lines of , “I hope I didn’t break the router because having to cut the hinge mortices by hand with a chisel would be a pain in the butt.”

There was a short pause, then her voice, very small, said, “Ass.”

I looked at her. She was looking back at me under her eyelashes, something she does when she isn’t sure if she’s in trouble or not. (Uncertainty is a powerful parental tool. I recommend it.)

“Beg pardon?” I said, putting my hammer back in it’s ring on my belt. I wanted to see if she’d commit to it. She did.

“Ass. Pain in the ass.” She raised her eyes to mine and waited.

“You know,” I said in what I hope didn’t sound like an obviously rehearsed speech, “there are people you’re going to meet every day who don’t think that’s a good word.”

She nodded. Of course she knows, I know she knows.

“There are people who would be angry at you for saying that.”

“I’d get in trouble.”

She was wilting. I decided to let her wilt for a minute more.

“And they’d be angry at me and mommy for letting you talk that way. There is a time and a place for every word in our language, but you aren’t old enough yet to know when that time and place is, do you understand?”

She nodded.

“So I don’t want to hear to say that any more. Do you understand?”

Another nod.

“You’re not in trouble with me, okay?”

She smiled, finally. Lesson learned.

“And, dear Lord, don’t let your mother hear you say it.”